What True Love is Like
by Wilson Hill
Summary: A parody of the most overworked specimen of pokemon fandom- the relationship between Ash and Misty. Chapter 2 out of three are up.
1. What True Love is Like

Well as we all know, one of the most over worked pieces of pokemon fandom is about the relationship between Misty and Ash. I decided, in my infinite spare time, to write a mockery of such pieces. Bare in mind that I have never actually seen a full episode of Pokemon, and am writing this story exclusively from the knowledge gained from reading crappy fics that were MiSTed, and from playing the game boy game (red version). A few facts that I'm guessing on:

-Ash and Misty are approximately fifteen years of age.  
-Ash apparently destroyed Misty's bike and owes her a new one.  
-Brock is apparently slightly older than Ash and Misty. I'm going to approximate that he's eighteen.  
-Ash is inept.  
-Misty is annoying.

PLEASE feel free to MiST/flame the heck out of it, weather you enjoy it or not. And now, for the main attraction:

What True Love Is Like.

Ash pulled the blanket tightly over his head, squeezing his eyes closed as hard as possible without causing them to go into his brain. A gentle sawing sound continued to wear on his nerves, fraying them to a single thread.

"Is it entirely imperative," began Ash, in a final attempt to solve his problem diplomatically, "that you sharpen your witch-like claws for hours on end into the night?" Ash's diplomatic skills had not gained much renown through the land. Misty looked up from her nail file, an eyebrow raised.

"Why?" she asked. "You don't like it when I do _this?_" at "_this_" Misty raked the nail file across her fingernail quickly, producing a high pitched hiss that drove Ash's eardrums near to the point of implosion.

"No," breathed Ash, trying to control himself, "I don't."

"How depressing," Misty informed sympathetically, then returned to honing her claws with zeal.

Ash grabbed his pillow and wrapped it around his face, barely managing to keep the sound out. He bit into the padding, muttering under his breath, "must…not…kill…crazy…water…freak…" over and over. He looked forward to getting up early tomorrow to retrieve his pokemon from the poke center. Grabbing a spare belt, he secured the pillow more securely about his face and fell into a fitful sleep where he dreamed about going on a quest to figure out why people bothered to raise pokemon as pets rather than just eat them like all other animals. He also tried to figure out the plural form of pokemon, but there was only so much adventure time so he never found out.

Ash awoke the next morning, suffering only mildly from asphyxiation. Pulling the pillow from his head, he got up and stretched, his muscles creaking slightly after their rest. Ash glanced over to where Misty's sleeping bag was located, and was surprised to find it empty save for a hand written note. Ash picked it up and read it, shocked at the contents.

Dear Ash,

If you want to see the skank alive again, bring your pokemon to Hell's Mouth for a duel.

Hugs and Kisses,  
Gary Oak.

P.S. -- this is kind of like a tournament/pot-luck with Team Rocket, so please bring a covered dish with you. We are also in need of paper cups.

A flood of emotion overwhelmed Ash, and he was forced to kneel to the ground by his weakening knees. He lifted his head to the skies, unable to believe this news. Thunder rolled across the landscape as a light drizzle began to play on Ash's face, the gentle rain hiding the evidence of his tears. "She's gone," Ash heard himself whisper. "She's really gone." A bolt of lightning cracked the heavens above Ash, setting a nearby tree alight. Ash was completely oblivious to the danger. "I just can't believe that she's gone…"

Brock ran through the forest, seeking to make sure Ash and Misty were alright in the angry storm. He was surprised to stumble upon Ash doing the happy dance in the middle of a clearing.

"Brock buddy!" Ash yelled, wrapping his arms around Brock's neck and nearly strangling him. "Guess what? Ding dong, the witch is dead! Up for some pina coladas?"

"Ash, what are you talking about?" Brock yelled, pushing Ash away from him.

"Here, read this," Ash replied, handing him the note. As Brock began to read, Ash continued skipping around the mud puddles.

"Ash, she isn't dead yet. Ash? Ash, will you please stop singing that song?"

"Upside inside out! Livin' la vida… sorry, what were you saying?"

"She isn't dead yet."

"Don't depress me. Besides, she's with Team Rocket, so she'll be dead soon enough anyways.

"Ash, shouldn't we go rescue her?"

"Why? We're all going to die at some point, her point is just going to be very soon."

"Um, yea, " replied Brock, scratching his head. "See, that's why we want to rescue her. Without her, we no longer have the dangling plot line of your relationship…"

"Long-term hatred does NOT constitute a relationship!"

"…and without that we lose a big chunk of our demographic."

"Girls 8-12?"

"Yup. Then we'll all rot in the bottom of some bargain bin. That what you want?"

"Can't we keep them with just Pikachu?"

"'Fraid not."

"What if you took your shirt off?"

"We'd get kicked off basic cable." There was a pause as Ash considered the possibilities.

"We really are going to have to rescue her, aren't we?"

"A-yup." Ash sank to his knees, openly weeping.

"So close… I was so close…I was so happy…"

"I know bro, I know," Brock said, sympathetically patting Ash on the shoulder.

* * *

"This is so stupid, they're never going to fall for it," hissed Brock, trying to get the mask to where he could see out of it.

"This is Team Rocket we're talking about. Even if the five year old watching at home catches on after two seconds, they'll never figure it out," Ash replied.

"This isn't even a real mask! It's just a paper bag you drew on with a crayon for God's sake!"

"They'll think you're me, don't worry about it. Now get out there," Ash shoved Brock into the clearing next to "The Hell's Mouth," which was actually an elaborately named rock. He immediately gained the attention of the large crowd of Team Rocket members.

"So, my rival," Gary sneered. "We meet again."

"Uh, hi," Brock said, trying to think of what Ash would say. "Sorry, I was going to bring a bowl of Jello for the pot-luck, but it melted in my pocket."

"That's alright," Gary replied, waving slightly with his hand. "Everyone else had the same idea. All we got here is gallons and gallons of the stuff." Ash had already discovered this for himself, and was loudly slurping the dessert from a large bowl as he continued looking for Misty.

"So then, shall we duel?" Gary asked, holding a pokeball in front of his face.

"Just one question," Brock replied. "Do you notice anything odd about my appearance? Anything?" Gary peered at him carefully.

"Yes," he concluded. "New shoes. Very nice. Also, you're not acting like nearly as big of an idiot as usual." Ash hurled a large stone at Gary's head and it bounced off without harming him. Ash continued his search.

"Let's just this over with," Brock growled. "Michael Jackson; go!"

"MC Hammer; go!" Gary yelled in turn. The two artists emerged from their respective pokeballs and began trying to out dance each other. While the aged and creaky men continued to try and pull moves they did ten years ago, Ash finally located Misty tied and gagged next to a large tree. Thick ropes kept her hands above her head, attaching them by extension to a tree branch above. Her feet were planted on a poorly balanced stone, threatening to tip over if she tried to move very much..

"Found you," whispered Ash, untying the knot that kept Misty from speaking. "Are you alright?" he asked, as the gag fell away.

"Just please get me out of here as quickly as possible," she hissed, struggling to move her arms. "And don't stand so close to me," she added, now that Ash had moved up to untie her hands.

"Relax princess," he replied, his hands snaking past her arms to reach the knots by her wrist. "You'll be free just as soon as I get the last… there!" a quick tug at the appropriate ends, and the knot undid itself. Misty fell, her arms wrapping around Ash's shoulders to keep her balance as the rock she'd been standing on rolled away. Her entire body and especially her arms were week from her treatment, and Ash had to catch her to keep her from completely dropping.

Misty half stood, half leaned against Ash, their faces now just a scant inch away from each other as a result of her tumbling forward. For the first time, Misty could see that Ash's eyes were quiet gentle, and she felt… safer while wrapped in his arms. Ash didn't know what he saw in Misty's eyes, only that doing so changed how he felt somehow. Stronger, weaker, powerful, and helpless all at the same time. It was an incredible sensation.

Their breathing became slightly more labored, and not from the effort of holding themselves up. Ash leaned his head forward slightly, his lips beginning to part. Misty began to follow suit, unsure of what to do, but instinctively closing her eyes as her heart began to pound. Ash whispered gently, their noses beginning to slide past each other, "I'm sorry, I'm a bit inexperienced. Is this sexual tension?" Misty's eyes shot wide open, and craned her neck back to see if Ash was serious. He was.

Half a moment later, Ash was kneeling on the ground with both his hands clasped over his personal organs, whimpering and turning a mildly disturbing shade of purple. "It isn't now that you've ASKED THAT, you SIMP!" Misty shouted. Fortunately for all involved, her outburst went unnoticed- Brock and Gary had switched from MJ and Hammer to Brittany Spears and Christina Agulara (respectively), who were dancing a performance that cannot be accurately described in a PG-13 fic. All present members of Team Rocket were to busy hooting, hollering, and waving one dollar Bobs to notice the escape.

After gulping air like a fish out of water for several minutes, Ash finally managed to get up, and stumbled over to where Misty was leaning against the tree, tapping her foot impatiently. "What was that for?" he asked, still slightly out of breath.

"Just for your natural charm. Let's go." Misty replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Scary friggin' skank…looks like a mutated ferret with a pony tail," Ash muttered, limping behind her. They made their escape, Brock sacrificing his prized Brittany Spears so that they would go unnoticed. Ash planned to pay him back later with an unevolved version of the same pokemon; however it was a fair trade because it could move a lot faster since it wasn't weighed down by four pounds of silicon.

They stopped and camped for the night, talking and laughing around a crackling fire. Brock got up to look for more fire wood, and Ash scooted around to be seated next to Misty.

"I've just got to ask," began Ash. "What happened after they captured you?"

"Not much," replied Misty, chewing on a blade of grass. "They grabbed me while you were still asleep; if you hadn't tied a pillow around your head maybe you could have helped me."

"Not likely," smiled Ash. "If they'd woken me up, I probably would have given THEM a hand," Misty turned to him, glared, then after a moment her expression melted into a smile. She threw a clump of grass at him in revenge.

"They didn't really mistreat me in any way," she continued. "But I was still terrified. I mean, after all, it's Team Rocket. You never know what they are capable of." She shivered, looking down at her feet. "I wasn't sure if you were going to come or not. But I am glad you did."

"Well, tell you what," Ash said gently, setting his hand down on her shoulder for encouragement. "If you ever…well, you know. If you ever need a … someone to talk to, or someone to… to hold you… you know, just… stay ten feet away from me." Misty looked up at Ash's grinning face.

Ash slowly woke up to see Brock's face.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Misty dislocated your jaw with a right hook. When I got back she was attempting to bury your body. I got you here to a pokecenter so they could look after you."

"But I thought they were veterinarians?"

"Well, I AM working on a budget."

"True. How long was I out?"

"Four hours. You'd better get some more rest though, we have to move out tomorrow if we want to keep on schedule. Ash gave the thumbs up signal and rolled over on his side, away from his heavily bruised cheek. He was almost asleep when he heard something. A slight whispering, rasping sound. Ash opened one eye, then another, to see that Misty had broken into the pokecenter and was now slowly, deliberately, filing her nails.


	2. The Murderous Sunrise

Various people were so kind in their reviews that I decided on extending this tale two more chapters. My thanks are extended to:

Cosmic Mewtwo - I honestly don't know how common Ash/Misty parings are, only that they seem to be the subject of virtually all mocked pokemon fics.

shadow/phantomness - I have no clue what an AAMRN is, nor why you would chose to be an anti one, but I'm glad you enjoyed the story.

act01 - I imagine that there are a few legitimately good Ash/Misty fics out there… I also imagine it's like finding a needle of good writing in a haystack of poorly composed slop to locate such a piece. Although I'd hazard a fair guess that this fic itself is not the first mockery of such attempts.

SilverFeather - I attempted to hit a couple of common things found in the much hated Ash/Misty pairings (not all of them mind you, just the ones that invoked enough wrath for a proper MiSTing), and hopefully in this chapter and the next I'll be able to touch on a few that I missed. I doubt I'll ever watch the show as I lack both cable and satellite, but once in my college I may tune in for a few episodes out of sheer boredom/curiosity. I'm sure an Ash/May parody is rife with opportunity; unfortunately I have no clue who May is, therefore it would be a very short fiction along these lines:

Brock: So, that May, whadaya think of her?

Ash: Hate her.

Brock: Cool.

Now that I have over half a page of Author's Notes (also known as "padding" or "filler") up, we might as well get to the actual chapter.

Chapter Two

The Murderous Sunrise

FACT: A group of crows aren't called a "flock", they're called a "murder". The same can be said of crowbars…

Ash stared at Misty across the room, as she continued sharpening her talons. She apparently hadn't noticed yet that he was awake. Only one thought managed to be formed within Ash's brain, and it crept down his spine and pushed out his mouth, his lips forming a simple, two syllable word in a horse whisper : "Revenge."

Misty looked up, hearing a sound coming from Ash but wasn't able to derive its meaning. She smiled when she saw his eyes open and put away her nail file. Stepping lightly from the chair, she walked over to where Ash was laying and stooped down next to his prone form. She gently stroked his bruised cheek, careful not to harm him. He didn't flinch, so she assumed she wasn't. "Does it still hurt?" she asked gently.

"…" was all Ash said, which is a neat trick if you can do it.

"Still upset about that little love pat I gave you?" she cooed. Ash maintained his silence, giving her a glare that would have sent Eminem scrambling for cover, although this doesn't say much. "Let me see if I make it all better," she smiled shyly. She reached up and pulled her silken hair out of the tight bun she kept it in. Ash had to admit that having her hair down certainly enhanced her visage. Misty moved her head up, moved her mouth to the side of Ash's face, and hesitantly began to bring her lips to his cheek.

"Don't even think of spitting on me," growled Ash at last.

"Dang," said Misty, stepping back. "How'd you guess?"

"I just know you that well," Ash replied, turning over to his other side, facing away from the girl. Misty snorted loud enough to scare intimidate an adult walrus, then stepped back. She looked at the nearby clock, then again at Ash, who was obviously still awake.

"Seven hours until dawn. Three hours until it begins" she stated, then left as quietly as she came.

Ash lay awake, pondering what that meant. He felt he had a clue.

Misty jogged into the woods, and after finding a good hiding spot, settled down with her blanket and prepared to get a few hours rest before the game began.

* * *

_They were older, Ash and Misty. As far as was possible to tell, they were in their late teens, although the cloths they wore made them appear to be more mature, perhaps in their early twenties._

_Ash was wearing a proper tuxedo, not a cheap prom rental. His real gold cufflinks glittered in the candle light as he bowed then extended a hand to accept hers. Misty blushed slightly, her pale blue ball gown contrasting delightfully with her hair. She accepted his hand, and they walked together to the center of the large ornate room, in between the other swirling couples._

_Ash wrapped his right arm around misty, taking her right hand into his left. They began to sway to the music coming from the orchestra, feeling as though there were no one else in the universe but them. "Earth angel, earth angel," crooned the lead singer of the band. "Won't you be mine? My darling dear, I'll love you for all time…"_

_"It is an honor to dance with you, Miss. Ketchum" Ash smiled, guiding her in the well practiced steps._

_"'Miss. Ketchum,'" breathed Misty. "I've waited so long to be called that." A tinkling of silverware against a glass was heard, and the newlyweds did not wish to break tradition. Ash's hand traveled up her back, below her waist-length hair, and cradled the back of her head as he brought his face down to kiss her._

* * *

Ash and Misty woke up from the dream simultaneously while screaming.

* * *

"I'm serious," Ash stated, downing another mug. "She did some kinda freaky magic on me, giving me nightmares!"

"Let's be reasonable," Brock said, purchasing more of the beverage. "Maybe it was just something you ate."

"All I've had to eat in the last six hours was a huge bowl of jello," replied Ash. "If that doesn't give you sweet dreams, nothing will."

"Alright, fine. When was the last time you saw Misty? Her punching you, so maybe the dream had something to do with…"

"Actually," Ash said, interrupting. "She broke into my room a little after you left. Tried to spit on me, said that in three hours 'IT' would start."

"What is 'IT'?"

"I don't know!" exclaimed Ash. "It's impossible to figure the woman out! Then I fell asleep, had that scary dream, woke up three hours later, and hunted you down to go bar hopping with me." Ash downed another mug, impressed with himself for saying all of that in one breath. His lung capacity was improving.

"So 'IT' has already begun then?"

"Approximately a half hour ago, yes," Ash confirmed.

"And we haven't any idea on what has started, is that correct?"

"Well, I do have one idea," replied Ash. "See, I was on this pokemon fansite, right?"

"Dude," Brock interrupted, "Why do you even bother looking at that junk?"

"Hey, call me shallow if you want," snapped Ash, "But I enjoy seeing how many teeny poppers claim they are 'Just so in love with Ash!' even if they are scary. So anyway, one of the sites quoted some supposed representative of the guys who make our cartoon. Apparently, this is the season finale, and 'Something big is going to happen between Ash and Misty!'. I'm gonna guess that Misty knows more about it that I do, and whatever big thing happens will happen at dawn."

"And also in the intervening time," Brock said, checking his watch, "which would be three hours, forty eight minutes."

"As far as I figure it," continued Ash, "We either kill each other, or fall in love. If it's the later, then I'm going to have to sit here all night and drink till she's beautiful."

"Which won't happen any time soon," replied Brock, "Considering I've been buying you root beer."

"In that case, we go with my preferred option, the former," commented Ash. "Now then, where's the local arms dealer?"

A few inquiries led them to a stately building entitled "Arthur's Armory". The proprietor of the establishment was actually named Bob, who inherited it the from the original owner, Bob Sr. No one seemed to mind the heading despite the fact that no Arthur had ever been employed by, or even associated with, the store.

"Greetings shop keeper," Ash said elaborately, strolling up to the counter. "What armaments do you have for sale?"

"Well, good Sir," the man said politely. "We have some nice toy swords over on that wall, I'm sure you'll enjoy playing with them.

"Perhaps I should have introduced myself," Ash said, checking his fingernails. "I am Ash Ketchum."

"Well Mr. Ketchum, the toy swords are over on that wall over there, enjoy."

"You don't recognize me?" Ash asked, shocked. "Dude, like, your very existence hinges on my character." Bob sighed and pulled out a copy of the script, flipped a few pages, and handed it to Ash.

"You see," he asked, pointing, "It says that I'm not supposed to sell you any actual weapons because you're to young." Ash tore the script in half, grabbed his money pouch, and poured a foot tall pile of gold coins on the table; a small sample of what putting his face on various pokemon merchandise had accomplished.

"I'm sure you could find a way to improvise this scene," Ash said, gesturing to his bribe.

"Is that even remotely legal?" Brock asked.

"It's the season finale," Ash replied. "What are they gonna do, write me out of the script?" Bob had already deftly swiped the coins into the strikingly modern cash register and was hastily gesturing Ash to follow him towards the big-ticket military hardware.

Brock and Ash walked down isles of gigantic swords, hefty axes, tightly strung bows, elaborate knives, and even heavily armored mechs. Finally, at the end of the last aisle stood a weapon.

* * *

Misty was well aware of the promised "big thing" that was to come upon herself and Ash at dawn. She just didn't know what it actually _was_. If she had to guess, she would say that they would fall in love, and by contrast, oblivion sounded good.

She cleaned and polished her shot gun, then laid it down to check the A.I. of her advanced battle droid. Her small clearing had become populated with many tools of war, including among other things an assault rifle, a sniper rifle, a fore-arm mounted mini-crossbow, a morning star, an evening star, a gantline cannon, and a ferret high on catnip. She felt ready, but knew that Ash would only get the most powerful of armaments to use against her. She could only hope she was prepared.

* * *

It was a weapon in every meaning of the term. The wickedly hooked head, with its glaring fangs of death, inspired almost as much fear and awe as the price tag. Meanwhile the other end split into a seemingly demonic bifurcated tail, albeit a bit stubby. The crimson paint that covered the main bulk of the weapon was offset by the gray steel ends capping off the shaft. Ash drooled. Brock looked at it skeptically.

"It's a crowbar," Brock said, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes it is," breathed Ash. "It is indeed a crowbar." And it was.

"It is a _perfect_ crowbar," corrected Bob, "Crafted by giants and blessed with magic. A woarrior's glory; except that this best of weapons, a strong and splendid, gigantic work, was more than any other man might carry into the play of battle."

"Say what now?" Brock asked.

"Er, sorry, got carried away," apologized Bob.

* * *

As Ash exited the shop, clutching his new prized crowbar, he was completely oblivious to a high powered 30.06mm sniper rifle with a long range scope aimed right at his head. "Hey Brock," Ash said for the twentieth time, flipping through the instruction manual. "Listen to this: 'the crowbar can ALSO be used to pry up loose nails.' Who THINKS of this stuff?" Brock sighed miserably.

A muffled pop from one hundred yards away was not enough to warn Ash of his danger; and even if it was, the speed at which the bullet traveled left virtually not time for evasive movement.

It is rather fortunate then for Ash, that Misty was giggling over how clever her plan was, and hence missed his head by one and three quarter inches. The window of Arthur's Armory cracked in an intricate, spider web type design, with a small round hole right in the middle. Ash continued babbling on about the crowbar, as Brock gaped in shock at the window. "And you can also use it to wash clothing!" Ash exclaimed. "You just fill a bucket with soapy water, dump your cloths in, and swish it around with the crowbar. Dude, this thing is the high-kicking shiznet!" Brock chassed after Ash as Bob came out wondering what happened to his window.

Misty tried to get a second shot off, but Ash had moved behind a thick clustering of trees and she couldn't get a clear angle. Muttering words that her mother would have whapped her upside the head for had she been present, Misty retreated back into the forest to plan her next assault.


End file.
